


A Story About Death and Flowers

by hideunspoken



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, warning: character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideunspoken/pseuds/hideunspoken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian hated flowers. He would have hated this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story About Death and Flowers

Sebastian hated flowers.  
He had this weird aversion to them that Kurt could never understand, and it infuriated him. Whenever Sebastian went on business trips, Kurt would get out the thin crystal vase he kept in a shoe box in the depths of his closet, like a stash of porn (which he didn’t need to hide since he lived with Rachel). Kurt would buy white calla lilies to fill the vase and display just slightly off center on the breakfast bar, because really, they added a perfect charm to the room.  
They made the space seem a little more homey, took away the slight edge of coldness from the apartment that was always missing when Sebastian left. Without Sebastian’s socks stuffed into his shoes in the doorway or his collection of ties draped over the closest dining room chair that just fluctuated as he cycled through them, Kurt was left with the kind of apartment he always said that he wanted. Spotless, pristine floors and furniture that gave him a peace of mind, but ended up reminding him that he was completely alone in the cold loft, sometimes for multiple weeks.  
So, he took the only opportunities he ever had. He smiled at the flowers every time he passed them, appreciated the soft scent they released, and took Sebastian’s complaints in stride when he returned from his trips and bitched incessantly about how the odor lingered for days, but Kurt didn’t care.  
He’d laugh and tease and ignore, citing that he sacrificed having flowers in their kitchen every single day because of his husband’s insane dislike for them, and so he took advantage when he could.

The entire flower situation was really such a tiny detail of their lives together. Kurt’s complete thought tangent was certainly making it seem otherwise, but he didn’t care.  
It didn’t matter.  
The fact was, Sebastian hated flowers.  
He wouldn’t appreciate them if you got them as an anniversary present. He didn’t need them as an expression of sympathy. He would despise them if they were meant as a get well gift.  
So, it was a dishonor, really, to have them here, bundled and threaded together, worked into wreaths, given display stands, really?  
Kurt wanted to tear them down. Grab a trash bag and shove them in. Throw them in a wood chipper. Find a freshly dug grave and bury them alone. Slice his hands open tearing the roses away from each other. He didn’t care about the pain or pity or simply crazy what are you doing kind of looks he’d surely get, because it didn’t matter, and the only thing holding him back was the comforting weight of his dad’s hand in his own, squeezing tightly and keeping him grounded, giving him the tiniest sliver of sanity that he could muster.  
They were up there on their stupid pedestals, taunting him. He felt completely powerless, watching them there as ugly reminders of how no one really knew Sebastian at all, not like Kurt did.  
Because Sebastian hated flowers. He hated them, and Kurt could almost hear him whispering in his ear. Why in god’s name are those hideous arrangements circling me like fucking vultures? And really, am I decomposing so much that they decided this nauseating stench was better?  
A choked sob got caught in Kurt’s throat as he almost laughed, a completely non-humorous, hysteric kind of giggle that was easily masked by the steady stream of tears flowing over his clenched face, but it was an almost-giggle just the same. The ceremony was coming to a close and the priest, a family friend of the Smythe’s, made the announcement that really solidified Kurt’s intense dislike for him. Regardless of the man droning on and waxing poetic about the afterlife and the peace Sebastian has found (because, really, Sebastian was healthy and young and living a perfectly wonderful life before the accident, so there wasn’t likely any peace from any angle, but Kurt bit his tongue), there was his final announcement that it was time for friends and family to each place some flower on Sebastian’s casket before they’d leave the grounds, since it was deemed too painful or morbid to watch the casket being lowered into the grave.

He didn’t care about the looks he got, standing silently and leaving the service before it was officially over. The entire Smythe family was staring at him in disbelief as he walked past, but they had never actually liked him, or their own son for that matter, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered. He didn’t care about the confusion or outrage or pity or sympathy that was likely directed toward him because it didn’t matter. Sebastian would get it. He would understand.  
He wouldn’t think Kurt needed to partake in the absolutely ridiculous tradition of placing some delicate flower on the wooden box. If he were there, he’d know. He’d know that Kurt was seconds away from losing it completely, from breaking down, throwing the flowers aside, and begging to crawl in the grave, too, before they started filling it with dirt.  
So, he left.  
He left and scrambled in his car, making it a mere two miles before he had to pull over, giving up all restraint, dropping all facades, and simply letting the pain claw through his chest.  
It wasn’t Sebastian in the casket that he walked away from. Sebastian wasn’t in some better place with rainbows and unicorns and fairies. He wasn’t freed from the pain and burden of human awareness. He was gone. He didn’t exist anymore, and Kurt knew it, and nothing about that was comforting or freeing or peaceful.  
He didn’t want to mourn and move on. He wanted to grieve and suffer and wallow in the fact that nothing was going to be okay. He didn’t want to get over his husband’s death, because he was young and perfect and happy and healthy, and it was so entirely unfair that sometimes Kurt hated that he didn’t have some god to yell at and blame, only some idiot driver who had his own casket as punishment.  
So, Kurt sat, hunched over his steering wheel, and he cried, and he grieved, and he gave up.


End file.
